


all messed up (in you)

by ghostboi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Begging, Case Fic, Case fic (sort of), Dean Talks Dirty, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Dean, Protective Dean, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform, dubcon, stuck on these fuck or dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: Something is killing healthy people in the guise of heart-attacks.Then Sam catches it, & Dean (of course) steps up to help baby brother out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo.. it has been **forever** since I've written anything! Sorry dears, work has run me ragged the past couple of months ( & caused my muses to hibernate). Forgive if this sucks. The title is giving me fits, too.

They saw many weird things in their line of work. Tales of people who were completely healthy before suddenly falling dead was, on the great scale of things, far less weird than some things they had encountered. 

Still, the fact that there wasn’t any trace of drugs in the deceased victims caused a bleep on the supernatural-honed radar of one Bobby Singer. A phone call was made, and Sam and Dean Winchester made their way down to Peralta, New Mexico, to investigate.

It was freaking hot in New Mexico in the summer time. Dean was muttering about the “freaking heat” as they donned their FBI attire and prepared to hit up the local morgue for information. 

Suits were pretty impressive even without the jackets, so the brothers opted to leave those in the car before heading into the Valencia County morgue. Once inside, they were escorted by an intern into the morgue itself to wait for the local coroner. 

Sam was studying a row of surgical tools when he heard his brother behind him,  
“Sam. Check this out.”

He turned, and rolled his eyes as he took in the sight: Dean was holding a model skull and had it close to his face, making kissy faces at it. “Looks a little like that chick you tried to pick up in Arkansas last week, doesn’t it?”

Before he could respond, the door was pushed open and someone entered the morgue. Dean scrambled to replace the skull, and Sam smirked and turned to face the pretty, dark-skinned woman who entered. 

“Ma’am,” Sam greeted as she approached, extending his hand to shake hers, “I’m Agent Tyler and this is Agent Frey, and we had a few questions about some recent deaths here in town..”

 

Half an hour later, the Winchesters exited the morgue and crossed the sweltering parking lot, to the Impala. 

“That was a bust,” Dean muttered, undoing his tie before reaching the car and shoving it in his pants pocket, then undoing the top button of his shirt.

Sam had to agree. The coroner had given them the little information she had, which was that random, seemingly healthy people were dropping dead of what appeared to be heart attacks. No evidence or history of medical issues before hand, no trace of drugs in their systems. 

“Let’s hit up some of the victims’ acquaintances,” he suggested, “See if they can shed any insight on what happened to these people.” 

Dean nodded as he climbed into the car. Sam heard him mutter a low curse, and opened his own door to peer inside the vehicle. 

“Seat’s hot as hell,” his older brother grimaced and shifted on the leather, then cranked down the window. Sam chuckled; it faded as he climbed into the car and realized that his brother hadn’t been exaggerating. 

 

The oppressive heat didn’t fade with the sunlight; it was hot still, even after dark. The brothers finished up their interviews, which had informed them that the victims had all had more than a heart attack in common: they had all gone into some kind of crazed lust haze just before the heart attack. They stopped by their motel room to change after the interviews; an hour later, they found themselves in a local bar. 

They had been seated at the bar for only a minute when the bartender, a young woman with long, dark hair, approached them.

“What can I get you boys? Got a real nice local brew in this morning.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Sam agreed, shooting her a smile. He smirked as the woman turned her eyes to Dean and his brother snorted,

“No thanks. Gimme a couple shots of whiskey.”

Dean turned, back against the bar, to survey their surroundings as they waited for their drinks. He glanced over as the bartender placed Sam’s beer in front of him, and snorted at the brew’s name: _Per-Ale-Ta_.

“That has got to be the worst play on a town’s name ever,” he noted as turned back to the bar, reaching for the whiskey shots the bartender placed in front of him. He downed one before shifting his eyes to his brother. Sam had taken a drink of the beer and was staring at the bottle.

“It’s not bad,” the younger man finally decided, “Try it.” 

Dean shook his head as Sam tipped the bottle toward him, shoving his brother’s arm – and the local brew – away. “You keep your beer, princess, and I’ll stick with my whiskey.” An amused smirk touched his mouth as Sam finished his beer an ordered a second one, stammering over the words when the pretty bartender shot him a gorgeous smile.

“Real smooth, Sammy,” he teased when the woman had walked on to her next customer. 

“Shut up, Dean. Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Two hours later, Dean was leading the way out of the bar. He glanced at his brother as Sam bumped shoulders with him: the bigger man was grinning at him. 

“How many did you have, Sam?” he asked, raising a brow as his brother slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Not that many,” Sam shot him another grin, “Enough to take the edge off. Aren’t you usually the one telling me I need to drink more?”

“That’s before I remember how huggy it makes you,” he retorted, pulling the car keys from his pocket.

His brow raised again as his brother smirked and blew him a kiss, then climbed into the passenger seat. Dean shook his head and chuckled as he slid behind the wheel.

 

They entered their shared motel room minutes later. Dean tossed the car keys, his phone and his gun on the nightstand, eyes shifting to Sam as his brother threw himself down on his bed.

“Too hot,” the big man muttered, tugging at his t-shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it aside, then laid back on the bed. 

“Sure the hell is," Dean agreed, sitting down on his own bed to take off his boots, “I’m hitting the shower. Don’t fall asleep with your boots on.”

When he exited the bathroom twenty minutes later, hair wet from his shower and damp towel slung around his shoulders, Sam was asleep. With his boots on. The elder brother shook his head and muttered fondly, “Dumbass,” before moving to unlace and pull off the other man’s boots. 

 

Dean woke from his sleep with a start sometime later. He blinked up at the ceiling, taking a moment to get his bearings and trying to figure out what woke him. His gaze shifted across the dark room, toward his brother’s bed, as he heard a low moan. Dean sat up, alarmed.

“Sammy?” 

He flicked on the small lamp which sat on the nightstand, and turned his eyes toward his brother’s bed again. He blinked against the change in lighting.. and blinked again as his green gaze fell on Sam.

The other man was lying on top of his blankets, completely naked. His eyes were closed and his hand was around his very hard dick, stroking himself.

A flush touched Dean’s face at the sight, and he shifted his gaze away. “What the hell, Sam?”

“You’re the one who turned the light on,” Sam murmured, biting at his bottom lip, “Fuck, I’m horny.”

“I can see that,” the older man cleared his throat, “You wanna cover that up?” 

“Been trying to get off for a fucking hour,” the younger man muttered instead, “Can’t though. Heart feels like it’s going to fly out of my chest.”

Dean’s eyes shifted to his brother, brows furrowed. “Maybe it’s the alcohol.” He averted his gaze again, heat rising to his face, as the other arched his hips, thrusting into his fist.

“Not –“ Sam breathed a soft, pained curse before continuing, “Not the alcohol. Can’t – fuck – “ 

Dean shook his head and, turning away from the younger man, said, “Okay, this is getting pretty awkward. I’m just gonna –“ he motioned toward the door, “- sit in the car until you’re, uh, done here.”

“Wait,” Sam’s breathless request had him glancing at the other’s face again. 

Sam was staring at him, pupils blown and lips parted as he drew in ragged breaths. It was the pain tracing Sam’s voice, lining his features, which had Dean sliding off the bed. He ignored the fact that his brother was jerking his cock and moved to the other’s bedside. He reached down to press his fingertips against Sam’s throat. He started at the low moan which escaped the other, but felt for the other’s pulse. He frowned as he found it, and realized that it was racing. His green gaze met Sam’s hazel one, and he saw the younger man swallow hard. 

“Think I might have –“ 

Sam’s voice trailed off momentarily as he stroked himself, low moan escaping his throat. Dean’s own gaze shifted away, embarrassed: he was standing here, trying to hold a conversation with his brother while the other jerked off. His eyes flicked to the other’s face again (and not to the hand wrapped around his brother’s dick) as Sam continued, 

“Think I might have what those other people had.”

“How?” Dean demanded, not wanting to believe his brother’s words, “How the hell would you catch – “

“Maybe from the bodies? In the morgue?” Sam mused, eyes closed and a grimace of pain creasing his features, “Don’t know how else..”

“Shit. We’ll figure this out, if – we’ll find a way to fix it.” Dean’s fingers found his brother’s pulse again – Sam’s heartbeat was racing between his fingertips. He pulled his hand away from his brother, embarrassment heating his face, as the younger man moaned and arched into his fist again. 

“Fuck,” the word was a breathy moan from Sam’s lips, and Dean swallowed as he felt his own cock twitch. He blinked down at the other as Sam whispered,

“Keep – keep talking. Please..”

“Keep talking?” he repeated blankly, staring at the other for a moment, “You want to talk about – while you’re –“

Another low moan escaped Sam’s throat, his cheeks touched red with exertion and lust, and the younger man jerked himself faster. “Fuck, your voice, it’s -" Sam’s own voice was a whisper, eyes closed, “God, Dean..”

Realization hit him like the recoil of a shotgun, and Dean’s mouth fell open a bit in shock, brows raised. 

“You’re trying to get off on my voice? The hell, Sam?”

His little brother whimpered, thrusting into his fist again. Dean’s brows furrowed as a pained whine escaped the other, and he moved to Sam’s side again. Concern overrode awkwardness as he questioned, “Sammy?”

“’m sorry Dean. It’s like, like I have to –“ Sam shook his head, “‘Can’t do that to you, I’m –“ another low moan, this one of pain, escaped his throat, “– hurts, can’t breathe, it – “

He own heart slammed against his chest at the pain and confusion tracing Sam’s voice, and Dean made his decision. Whatever was affecting his brother had killed others, and the fuck if he was going to let that happen here. 

Sam’s eyes flew open, gaze locking on him, as Dean sat down on the bed’s edge. “Tell me what you need, Sammy,” he instructed softly, “I’m not going to let this.. this thing, whatever it is.. I’m not going to let it have you. What do you need me to do?”

Sam shook his head, tried to roll onto his side to face away from Dean. He went completely still as Dean caught his arm, halting him. The younger man met his gaze, and Dean raised a slightly-shaking hand to brush his fingers against Sam’s mouth. 

The moan which tore from the other’s throat sent a thrill through him, straight to his own dick. The half-formed thought that maybe he should go out and find someone to help Sam with his not-so-little problem (if sex would help at all) dissipated at the sound of that soft moan.

His voice was low, rough, as he asked, “You need me to talk to you? How, baby? Like I am now?”

“Please,” Sam’s plea was a whisper, body arching toward Dean, “Dean, please, need – need you..”

Dean shifted his position, moving so that he was stretched out on the bed next to his little brother. He trailed a finger down his brother’s cheek, then brushed his thumb over the younger man’s bottom lip. The soft exhalation, the parting of lips, sent another stab of heat through him. 

“Tell me what you need, Sam.”

The younger man shivered as Dean breathed the words against his ear. “Dunno,” Sam bit down on his bottom lip, hand tightening around his cock, “Feel like -“ Hazel was almost completely engulfed by the black of his blown pupils as Sam’s eyes flicked to him, “like you’re supposed to fuck me.”

Dean bit down the groan that wanted to escape his throat. His voice was low, lust-rough, as he asked, “You think that will fix this?”

“Maybe,” Sam’s own voice was a whisper now, words slurred with lust and whatever had taken hold of him, “That one guy we talked to, friend of – of the first victim. Said he had the same symptoms but they disappeared after sex.”

The younger man shut his eyes, bit down hard on his bottom lip.  
“Fuck. Keep having these- these thoughts, Dean. Since this- since I got hard – fuck.”

“What thoughts?” his own body was buzzing with desire as his eyes flicked to his brother’s hand, which was still wrapped around his hard, flushed dick and stroking slowly. He knew it was wrong, the lust that was heating his skin and dancing along his ribs, that heavy, hungry feeling in his chest cavity that was taking hold of his heart. He couldn’t stop the feelings, feelings which had haunted him for years now, anymore then he could stop his protective nature regarding his brother.

“Your voice,” the younger Winchester’s eyes locked on his face, dropping to focus on his mouth, “You – you talking to me, telling me –“ Sam’s voice trailed off as he licked his own lips, gaze still on Dean’s mouth.

Dean’s own words were a whisper now, “Telling you what, Sammy?”

“Telling me what you want to do to me,” Sam whispered in return, “You inside me, using my mouth and my body.”

A teasing smirk curved Dean’s mouth, “Talking dirty to you, you mean? Fucking you?”

“Yeah,” Sam’s tongue slipped out to lick his lips again, his eyes flicking from Dean’s mouth, up to meet his gaze, back down to his mouth, “Need – fuck, Dean, please..”

Dean shifted closer, slipping an arm across his baby brother’s stomach to rest his hand on Sam’s hip. He brushed his lips against the shell of Sam’s ear, a ghost of a touch which barely grazed the skin. Still, it brought a low, hungry moan from Sam’s throat, and Dean cursed beneath his breath as his cock leaped at the sound. 

“You need to hear me tell you that I want to fuck you, Sam?” he breathed against Sam’s ear, and the other let out a soft whine, “Want to hear me say I want to wrap my hand around that pretty monster dick of yours and stroke it?”

Sam moaned, arched into the fist which was wrapped around his cock, eyes riveted to Dean’s face now. “Dean, please..”

“I’m going to help you, baby,” Dean brushed his mouth against Sam’s jawline; the resulting moan sent heat through him to pool low in his stomach. He shifted so that he was raised on his elbow, leaning over the younger man, and trailed his fingers along Sam’s jawline, down to his throat.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, Sammy,” he murmured, fingers brushing the tattoo on the other’s chest, tracing the outline. It wasn’t until the words were spoken that it struck him he had said them aloud. He swallowed, biting his lip in dread, waiting for his brother to call him out on it. Sam, however, only arched into his touch. 

He swallowed again as the younger Winchester reached for him, grasping the back of his neck. “Dean,” his name was a soft moan from Sam’s mouth, “please, I need you. Please kiss me, please, I’ll be so good for you, Dean. Please..”

He growled, a rumble in his chest, at the plea. Even if he hadn’t been half (or fully, maybe, he usually tried to think of other things when it struck him how much he cared for Sam, in all the wrong ways) in love with his little brother for most of his life, he wouldn’t have been able to resist that plea. It was needy, traced with pain and desperation and lust. How the hell could anyone say no to that type of begging, from such a beautiful creature?

He should be a better man, he knew that. He was aware of it. He should push away, get up, find someone else to do what he was giving serious consideration to doing..

“Please, Dean,” Sam’s words were a whisper now as the other leaned up to breath against his ear, “Only want you. You’re the only one who can help me. Only one who can make me feel good.” 

Full lips brushed his ear and Dean groaned, eyes closed; his resistance disappeared completely as his brother began to suck on his earlobe, hands moving up to clutch at his ribs.

Dean shifted again, moving this time to straddle his brother’s lean hips, stretching forward so that he was laying on top of the other man. The position trapped Sam’s hard cock beneath his own denim-clad dick and Sam’s stomach, and the younger man arched hard against him.

“Fuck, Dean, yes!”

He leaned in as large hands tried to pull him closer, swiping his tongue up his brother’s chest. His lips found the tattoo which was etched in Sam’s skin, and he licked the inked flesh before placing a soft kiss there.

“Killing me, Dean,” Sam gasped, arching hard against his body, hands sliding down to grip his ass as he tried to pull him still closer, “Need – fuck, heart’s beating too fast. Need to feel you.”

Dean chuckled against his brother’s skin, lips moving to catch Sam’s nipple. He toyed with the hard, sensitive nub with his mouth and tongue, drawing gasps of pleasure from his brother. “You’re not feeling me now?” he asked, finally raising his head to smirk at the other as he drove his hips down against Sam.

“More!” Sam’s hands moved to the waist of his jeans, fumbling with the button. Dean growled softly as fingers undid the snap and pushed down the zipper, then pushed beneath the material to brush against his own achingly-hard dick. 

“Off,” Sam pleaded, tugged at the waistband of his jeans, “God, Dean, please, I need more..”

Dean rolled off his brother, and Sam whined in protest, grabbing at him in an attempt to pull him close again. He took several moments to jerk off his thin t-shirt, then he shoved down his jeans and briefs. He kicked them off his legs, baring himself; moments later, he was rolling back on top of Sam, hands gripping his brother’s muscled biceps and hips arching down against him. He wanted to growl “ _mine_ ” and lay claim to the other in every way possible as he rocked against Sam’s sweat-slicked skin, felt the firm muscles beneath him, heard his brother’s desperate pleas for more.

Both men groaned in pleasure as Dean’s dick slid up against Sam’s rock-hard shaft.

His own voice was breathless with need as Dean teased the other, “What do you want, Sam? Tell big brother what you need.”

“Want your cum,” Sam rocked his hips, sliding their cocks together, and wrapped a leg around Dean’s thighs, “Want your cum all over me.”

“Yeah?” the older man reached between them to wrap his hand around both their dicks, squeezing them together as they thrust against one another, “All over you, huh? Maybe I’ll cum all over your face, baby. You want that?”

Sam nodded and rocked his hips faster, thrusting into Dean’s hand, lips parted and eyes closed as he gasped for air.

Dean leaned in and caught his brother’s mouth with his own. The younger man moaned, and Dean nipped at his bottom lip. “Maybe I’ll let you suck my cock, if you’re a good boy, and cum down your throat.”

He caught Sam’s mouth again, licking inside to taste the other, and Sam cried out and arched hard against him.

Dean growled into his brother’s mouth as Sam’s hot cum covered his hand and both their stomachs, his own orgasm crashing through him as he felt Sam’s hands clutching at his ass to pull him closer. 

“Sammy!” the name was a gasped breath against his brother’s mouth as his orgasm ripped through him, and then Sam was kissing him hard, one hand catching the back of his neck to hold him close. 

When they finally parted, Dean exhaled a shuddering breath and pressed his forehead against Sam’s shoulder. He rubbed his hands along his brother’s side, felt the way the younger man’s breathing was slowing down, returning to something close to normal. He pressed his lips against the other’s tattoo again, before laying his hand on Sam’s chest to listen to his heartbeat.

Dean closed his eyes in relief as he heard the steady sound of Sam’s heart. No longer racing, no longer sounding as if it was trying to escape from the other’s chest.

He was motionless for a long moment, enjoying the feel of Sam’s hands rubbing up and down his back. Finally, he took a slow breath and raised his head, prepared to see anger, or horror, or something worse, in Sam’s hazel gaze.

Instead, Sam was smiling fondly at him, a pleased, satisfied look on his face. Dean was certain he was imagining the adoration in his brother’s hazel eyes as the younger man stared at him. He shifted, started to move off his brother, only to have Sam’s hands tighten on his back and ribs. 

Green eyes lifted to meet hazel again. This time, Sam looked uncertain. “I –“ the other started. His voice trailed off for a moment, then he said, voice a bit hoarse, “Thanks. For – you probably saved my life just now.” 

Dean nodded once, shifted again to move off the other. This time Sam let him go (and didn’t he hate the disappointment that came with that? Yes, yes he did). 

The two laid beside one another in silence for a moment, both staring at the ceiling. Dean knew the awkwardness was inevitable. He had just gotten his brother off, his cum was all over Sam and Sam’s all over him. 

He closed his eyes as that feeling of possessiveness coursed through him again, that desire to claim Sam as his own. He had to stop. He couldn’t act on those feelings, wasn’t it bad enough that he had pounced Sam the moment he’d had the opportunity? Even if it had been necessary to keep the other alive..

Dean opened his eyes and glanced over as Sam whispered,  
“Dean?” 

“Yeah?”

“Are you - ?” Sam swallowed audibly, brows creased in sudden apprehension, “Dean, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you –“

He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t let his brother think he was upset, or violated, or worse.

Before he could think twice and change his mind, Dean rolled onto his side and, grasping his brother’s face, pulled him close for a kiss. Sam’s soft moan against his mouth fueled his hunger, and he kissed the younger man thoroughly, laying claim to his mouth.

“Mine,” the word slipped from his lips when they finally parted. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against Sam’s, “My Sammy. You’re _mine_.”

“God, yes,” Sam’s arms slid around him and he pressed soft kisses against Dean’s jawline, down his throat, “For all my life, Dean. Only ever really been yours.”

They made their way to the shower a short while later, enjoying the feel of one another’s hands on skin, simply touching and washing one another. 

They ended up on Dean’s bed – Sam’s was a bit of a mess – wrapped up in each other. Sam fell asleep during an old rerun of _The Dukes of Hazard_ a short while later, his head on Dean’s chest and Dean’s arms wrapped protectively around him.

The Duke boys had just made their grand escape from the incompetent police force when Dean crawled from beneath his sleeping brother and climbed out of bed to grab a beer. Sex (and cuddling) was thirsty work! 

He was making his way back to the bed, cold beer in hand, when his eyes fell on Sam’s case notes, which were strewn on the small table near the television set. Dean snatched them up as he passed and, seating himself on the bed beside Sam, flipped through them. He had just finished his beer and was preparing to toss the notes aside so he could lay down with his brother again, when something caught his eye.

 

The digital numbers on Dean’s cell phone read 3:05 a.m., when he heard the creaking of an opening door. He raised his head and watched as someone exited the building in front of him, moving out onto the graveled parking lot. Dean pocketed his cell and pulled his knife, then moved out of the shadows.

“The hell -?” the dark-haired bartender from earlier in the night gasped out a surprised curse as Dean stepped out of the surrounding dark and shoved her up against the side of the building. “Get the fuck off me!”

The blade of his knife was against her throat even before she raised her hands to shove him away, and she froze. 

“I’m not so sure I would have figured this one out,” Dean shot her a sardonic smile in the dim lighting from the weak bulb above the bar’s backdoor, “if you hadn’t fucked with my brother. You did dose him with that poison you’ve been feeding everyone else around here, though.”

The woman shot him a smirk of her own, “Did you watch him die? Guess that must have sucked for you. You’ve probably figured out that my potions cause the lovesick little lambs to lust after the first person they touch. Guess that must have sucked for you.”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if he was dead,” the hunter’s voice was hard now, rage darkening his features, “ _You_ would be dead already.”

The bartender’s brows shot up and she scoffed, “Right. Noone can withstand my potions, dollface. They’re cured through sex or boom, death. If he’s not dead yet he will be.”

Dean laughed, anything but friendly, “Lady, you don’t know us at all. I would do whatever it took to save my brother.”

Realization dawned and her eyes widened. “That – that’s sick!”

“That’s rich coming from a bitch who has poisoned a dozen people, sweetheart.” Dean pulled his phone from his pocket as it chimed and flicked his eyes down to glance at the picture, which had just come through a text. His eyes lifted to meet the bartender’s again – she was staring at him with fear on her face now – and he raised the phone so that she could see it. Her eyes widened even more as she took in the picture.

It was a picture of a burning building. A brewery. The building’s sign, which read “Per-ale-ta”, could be seen through the flames. 

“Fuck you!” the woman spat. She began to murmur something then, almost beneath her breath.

Dean recognized a spell when he heard one, and now wasn’t an exception.

The witch’s eyes widened again, voice trailing off into a gasp: a moment later, she slumped over, eyes staring blankly into space. Dean slipped his knife from beneath her ribs and wiped the blade clean on her shirt sleeve, before releasing her. She collapsed to the ground, blood pooling into the gravel and dirt and soaking it to a muddy red, and Dean stepped back away from her. He shot her a final, dismissive glance before turning to stride across the parking lot, toward the Impala. He had a baby brother to pick up from a burning brewery, and some more cuddling to do.

His voice was a hard warning in the darkness to anything that would ever dare try,

“You don’t fuck with my Sammy.”


End file.
